


Medicinal Poison

by rosesisupposes



Series: Prompts for My Imaginary Sons [Sanders Sides Prompt Fills] [8]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Breakup, Emotional Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Insomnia, M/M, Nostalgia, Past Moxiety, Past Relationship(s), Patton is sad, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 03:23:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17952692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosesisupposes/pseuds/rosesisupposes
Summary: Someone is up late in the mindscape.





	Medicinal Poison

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Send me a made-up fic title and I'll ~~tell you what I would~~ write to go with it
> 
> I wrote this far too early in the morning, and yet it's coherent. I'm impressed despite myself.

_Tick, tock, tick_

The faint sound from the common room reminded him that the hour grew later and later, no matter how unsettled he felt.

_Tock, tick, tock_

He rolled over to check the time and saw the glowing green numbers indicating it was a quarter to four in the morning. He rolled back into his pillow to muffled the defeated moan grumbling its way out of his throat. Less than four hours until the morning’s alarm. The only thing awake with him was the house with its small rumblings, pipes and vents and creaks. The other residents of the mindscape were all safely ensconced in Remy’s domain.

Patton sighed, shifting once more under the covers. He knew he needed to sleep. Logan was very adamant about healthy circadian rhythms for them all, and Patton didn’t want to disappoint him  ~~too~~. He’d slowly started to notice Patton’s subdued morning greetings and had definitely noticed when the coffee pot started emptying faster. And given how easily Roman was distracting the logical side these days, Logan’s notice meant Patton could no longer deny that the sleep deprivation was getting worse.

Patton squished his pillow into a more comfortable position and blindly grabbed a stuffed animal from his bedside pile. He hugged the small creature to his chest, curling up around it, when the shapes and patterns under his fingers suddenly melded into a familiar mental image. Despite the dark, he could perfectly picture every detail, every stitch, every limb of his tiny Toothless. Despite being the newest addition to his collection, it was already worn. Patton nearly dropped it like a hot coal, but paused. He was already up this late, already unable to quiet the ruminations. Perhaps tonight he could stop pushing it away, and let himself remember.

He pulled the little dragon close to his chest, and let himself drift. He hand closed on bedsheets that had once been occupied. Equally fierce and gentle, angular limbs that fit perfectly around Patton’s form - he could still picture those nights with Virgil with perfect clarity. They hadn’t been so very long ago, but months felt like an eternity. And nights like these, when he had so many more waking hours to reminisce, only made the ache of that time sharper.

They still saw each other, during the day. They had to. It wasn’t like Patton could become someone else’s morality, or Virgil a stranger’s anxiety, nor could any of them refuse to appear. They’d seen the consequences of that. Virgil’s disappearance had prove to them all how essential he was- and it had proved to Virgil how much Patton had already believed that. That appreciation had led to affection, and it had brought Patton some of the happiest months of his existence.

Squeezing his Toothless tight as tears started to leak out of his eyes, he wished once more that those days hadn’t ended. He hated how  _alone_  he felt now. How much more aware he was of the quiet of his room and the sounds of the house in the pre-dawn hours. How many more silences inserted themselves into days that had once been filled with pet names and banter, puns and giggles.

The urge returned that night, strong as it had ever been.  _Go to him,_  it said with all of Roman’s passion.  _He can’t be aware of your current feelings if you never tell him,_  it murmured with Logan’s faultless reason.  _He might feel differently now,_  it insisted with all the optimism his heart could muster.

But that wasn’t his own optimism, was it. No, that was Deceit's voice again, the comfort of lies wrapping around his shoulders like Virgil’s arms had, once. Patton knew full well what further attempts would do. They’d only hurt them both, and nothing would change.

Virgil had been certain. He wasn’t in a place for a relationship. That much was clear. And he could work on it, and wanted to, but couldn’t ask Patton to just… stick around for him. Couldn’t ask him to take on the burden of Virgil’s slow therapeutic improvement. Patton had begged for the chance to stay anyway, to be there anyway, but Virge has insisted. “I can’t do that to you, Pat. I don’t want you to have to become my caretaker instead of my boyfriend. And that’s what will happen. So better to tell you now, end it now, than wait for the day you wake up and resent me for being a mess where you want a partner.”

 _I could never resent you_ , had died on Patton’s lips as he stared into Virgil’s achingly lovely eyes. He couldn’t promise such a thing, not without seeing the future. And a reckless vow would help no one.

Picturing it now, the tears poured out, hot and silent. Patton curled himself into a smaller ball, hoping the melancholy might not spread if he took up less room. But his stomach started to hurt from the effort of not shaking.

 _I’m already up so late and sobbing,_  he thought with resignation.  _Might as well lean in._ He sat up and summoned the picture frame from his wall. At his thought, the moving image shifted, bringing up a candid Roman had captured for the memory frame. Virgil and Patton crafting together, creating scarves of all four Hogwarts house colors as Virgil revealed his unexpected talent for knitting. Patton in the capture had his hands tangled in yarn, grinning hugely from inside his cat hoodie as Virgil laughed. The image shifted, and now it was a selfie, a picnic they’d planned together in the Imagination. The perfect early sunset set in their eyes as the sky behind them bloomed in their colors: light blue sky before the sun faded, interrupted by the dark purple underbellies of clouds. Virgil learned in to kiss Patton’s cheek as the memory was stored. Another shift and Patton found the picture he’d blocked anyone else from accessing. He’d captured it one cozy morning. Virgil, only half under the covers, looked up at him through sleep-ruffled bangs with a slow smile spreading across his face. His mouth moved without noise, but Patton still remembered the exact sound, the exact words: “Good morning, sunshine,” thick with sleep and yet so soft and gentle that it had caused Patton to immediately cover the man in kisses. He couldn’t stand to lose the memory, nor could he ever bear sharing such a thing.

He knew he tortured himself with the memories, with the pangs of longing to just go back to how it was. He knew the indulgence would only sting all the more as he brought himself back to his Virgil-less reality. But it soothed his heart, just enough. It was a cool balm that dulled the sharp burn, even if it flared again when the balm dried away. It was sticky-sweet honey, coating his heart like a sore throat without any of the ability to lead to lasting healing.

He knew the morning would bring more pain. He would drag himself out of bed, tack on a bright smile, slog his way through his duties and videos. He’d see the man he loved, the one he missed, the smile he ached for, but none of Virgil would be for him. The reality pushed down on him, a slow, non lethal blow. He risked the acuteness of pain each time he wallowed, and accepted that risk. It was with eyes wide open and heart fully exposed that he let himself drink the memories in deep.


End file.
